


Tickets

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim works at the fair and chats up his colleague.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tickets

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The Enterprise is the best roller coaster in the country, and Jim _is_ proud of that, proud that the ride he always works has all the latest technology, from internal artificial gravity nodes to transparent force field rails. At the height of the Enterprise’s track, one really does feel like they’re _flying_.

But Jim’s seen it five days out of the week all summer, and there’s a view across the way that rivals even the fair’s star attraction. As soon as Jim’s admit a new set of people onto the ride and set the controls accordingly, he’s staring through the milling crowd at the game tents. His favourite stand always seems to have the least people at it, likely because its host makes absolutely no effort to lure anyone in. The attendant there is staring right back at Jim, likely having been watching him before Jim was able to return the favour, but now that he’s caught, he blushes minutely green and looks away. Jim grins and keeps staring. 

Halfway through the Enterprise’s run, Bones shows up to tap Jim on the shoulder and grunt, “It’s your break, kid. Try not to waste it getting sick on popcorn again.”

“That was once,” Jim snorts, already fumbling out of his hat and apron—if he wears them about, people are sure to talk to him, and breaks are for the exact opposite of that. Bones accepts them both but doesn’t don the hat or tie up the apron, just tosses the top straps over his head and throws the hat to the control console for when Jim returns. Jim doesn’t have the seniority to so flagrantly disregard his uniform, but he’s also just not cynical enough to bother fighting it.

Sometimes Bones seems to pick little fights just for the fun of it, and he grumbles, “One was enough; I don’t want to have to drive you home again because you’re too drunk on butter to see straight.”

Jim sticks out his tongue, waves, and decides he’s got better things to do than get teased, so he makes his leave. The ride stops a second later, Bones automatically barking at the passengers to get off and make way for the next ones.

Jim pushes straight through the crowd to the tent on the other side of the path. It’s got a projected star field on the back wall and little toys hanging from the ceiling, toy phasers lined up at the front and an attendant standing in the middle who couldn’t look cuter if he tried. The second Jim points at the credit register, Spock frowns, but Jim stills says, “Key me in for another round.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow that instantly disappears in his hairline—his perfect black bangs are forced even lower along his forehead by the tight squeeze of the cap. His pointed ears arch up over either side, his arms crossed over his apron. He makes no move to the credit machine and instead notes, “You have already won all of our available prizes.”

“The little ones,” Jim snorts. “I’m still trying to work my way up to one of those giant sehlats.”

Spock counters, “I do not need a giant sehlat.”

Caught red-handed, Jim laughs, “Who says it’s for you?”

“It is a logical assumption, as, thus far, they have _all_ been for me.”

Quirking a grin, Jim insists, “They’ll be a friendly reminder to you of these days we spent together, once you’ve earned enough credits to go through the Academy.”

“It is highly likely you will make it there first and find other useless things to leave at my apartment.”

“And soon I’m going to leave you the largest, most useless thing of all. Now key me in for a round.” Without waiting for an answer, Jim takes up one of the phasers. Spock makes no move to charge him—employees get a certain amount of leeway on break: one of the many reasons Jim picked this for his summer job. The most prominent reason, of course, was the cute colleague he’d gain. Having Bones to bug is just a bonus. 

As soon as Jim’s fingers lock around the phaser, cartoon Romulan warbirds pop up on the back screen—something Starfleet’s been arguing is in poor taste since the fair started. Personally, Jim likes to think of this as early training for his future career, and he’s grateful when Spock steps begrudgingly out of the way. Five ships fly in five different directions, and Jim knows from experience he gets five shorts per round. He pulls the trigger one by one and hits every target despite the sophisticated program meant to elude players. The chiming winners song goes off, and Spock reaches up amidst the strings of stuffed toys covering a variety of alien animals, plucking free another sehlat. It’s no bigger than the palm of his hand.

Jim corrects, “No, I wanted the big one.”

“I wanted the small one, and you will need to win twenty consecutive games to earn our largest size.” Despite his uninterested tone, Spock pops the tiny sehlat into the breast pocket of his apron, so that its little head and glass-bead eyes poke out to look at Jim. Knowing Spock, it already has a label: I-Chaya Designation Whatever-Number-This-Is-Of-The-Many-I-Chaya’s-Jim’s-Won-Him.

Jim does nothing to stifle his affection. But he does settle back behind his phaser with a professional stance, announcing, “Bring it on.”

Five more ships load, but Jim only manages to hit three before a distraction throws him off balance—he misses the fourth and knows this round’s prize is forfeit. He stops anyway—Sulu’s slipping behind the counter and reaching out for Spock’s hat and apron. He gives Jim a knowing grin but forgoes the teasing for once. Spock takes out his new sehlat before passing the apron over and instead stuffs it into the pocket of his pants. It bulges out more awkwardly, but he still carries himself with impeccable dignity. Sulu nods at it and asks, “Are you two trying to fill a swimming pool with cheap carnival toys or something?”

Jim just laughs. Spock looks at him with a lifted brow, then asks, “I had assumed this was a form of human courtship. Was that the true intent of your gifts?” Then Jim laughs all the louder, Sulu joining in, and Spock turns another delicate shade of green.

The laughter seems to give him his answer, so Jim doesn’t bother explaining. He waits for Spock to join him on the other side of the stand, and with a wave to Sulu, Jim leads them off, asking brightly, “So, do you want popcorn or cotton candy?” His break will be over sooner than Spock’s, but Bones will probably cover for him if he’s late. When he’s with Spock, that’s a very real possibility.

Spock looks less amused at the prospect and asks, “Which would I rather waste my credits on—concentrated butter or sugar?”

“No,” Jim says with a wink, “Which would you rather have me lick off your lips?” Spock glances up in his own version of a Vulcan eye roll. Jim scoops him adoringly up by the waist and, out of respect to Bones, leads them off for cotton candy.


End file.
